The 2012 Eurovision parkrunning contest

Round two of marshalling this week and another really warm day again. The last time I marshalled was when we had the very warm spell at the back-end of March. Today was much the same – only hotter.

The day needed some coolness and class, so I decided to wear my nautical-inspired outfit. I bedecked myself in white shorts, blue and white striped t-shirt and blue deck shoes. The only item missing was a hat.  I almost opted for my Richard Gere Officer and a Gentleman outfit, but, on second thoughts, and knowing the forecast, I left it, neatly folded, in my special dressing up box.

7:00am arrived – time to make my way to Ore station to catch the 7:15 train to Hampden Park. As we trundled down the track, somewhere near Norman’s Bay, I noticed a small tea-drip on my shorts. Nooooooooo!

It wasn’t as if I had over-spilled on my legs; it was the tiniest drip, but now I had seen it, it seemed noticeable. And when one has such thrilling legs, as I do, I worried that others may spot it when I was marshalling and that may put them off their stride.

I had some orange-fragrance Marks and Spencer hand wipes in my rucksack, (as every self-respecting gentleman should have), so I took one out and dabbed gently at the offending mark. Bugger! It wasn't coming off. Oh well, I was just going to have to live with it. And, maybe, nobody would notice.

I arrived at parkrun and strode joyfully to the start area, where the organisers were frantically setting up the start and finish chutes. They are great though. Despite the freneticism, (I have just made that word up), they still had time to greet me:

“Hi Martin, nice to see you. I see you’ve dripped a small amount of tea on your shorts this morning…”

“Hey, Martin, good to see you. Do you want a cup of tea? Oh, I can see you’ve already had one….”

Once everything was set up, it was time for marshalling duty. I donned the over-sized high viz and, resembling a nuclear-fuelled oompah-loompah, I made my way over to marshall the bridge section.

On Eurovision weekend, I am affectionately renaming this bridge The Hump and, from hereon in, this week’s extravaganza is known as the Eurovision parkrunning contest.

9:00am ticked by. I heard the countdown in the distance. Three, two, one….  Let the Eurovision parkrunning contest, BEGIN.

A couple of minutes later, the first of the runners thundered by, going hell for leather in the heat. The first to go were well-rehearsed, with excellent stage presence and production values. 

Fortunately for me, they were going too fast to notice the tea-drip on my shorts. Whoosh, phnow, shooom – past me they all whizzed, heading off on their large loop of the park. A couple of friendly “Thank you, marshall” graces were proffered in my direction.  Was that a subtle attempt to nobble the Eurovision parkrunning jury? Try harder, I can be nobbled, for the right price.

The last of the runners came through, with determined concentration and friendly smile, and the sound of feet disappeared into the distance. The birds could be heard tweeting the end of their morning song, the sound of a train rat-a-tatting in the distance and the sun was silently piercing down on me.

Then, the excitement  really began and, in true Song Contest style, it was time for the voting…

First over the bridge came Ed Dodd, representing the Current Republic of Eastbourne AC with his version of ‘You Can’t Catch Me (La La La La La La)'. A favourite with the parkrunning audience, he was awarded ‘douze points’. For anyone who doesn't speak Eurovision, that's 12 points.

Dix (10) points, went to Matthew Southam also representing the Current Republic of Eastbourne AC with his entry, 'Boom, bang-a-bang’ as he bounded with style and aplomb over the bridge. (Note to self: investigation into the partisan running of two entries from the same country. Is this permitted under the Eurovision parkrunning contest rules? )

Huit (8) points, and third place, went to David Perry, representing himself, and who entertained us all with his upbeat version of 'Happily Slappidy Feet'.  This was a very slick performance and one he should be very proud of.

The other 76 nations followed behind. I was particularly impressed by this entry from the little known nation of Labradoodle. As you can see, these contestants had real grace on the stage with stunning production. Their version of ‘Woof for Peace’ was a mightily uplifting ditty.

But, as with most Eurovision parkrunning contests, there were a few entries that sounded the same. With versions of ‘Are we nearly there yet?’, ‘I can’t breathe’ and ‘It’s Too Damn Hot’, being some of the more memorable ones.

I did have to disqualify the lovely Kate Fowler for smiling as she came over the bridge. Grimacing, pained expressions, pathos and determination are all permissible at the 4km mark of the Eurovision parkrunning contest, but grinning from ear to ear is not.

There was one entry though that did particularly hit home. It came later down the running order, but I couldn't identify the artist. 

What was that you were  singing?

‘I see you spilled some tea – tee-he-he-he-he!’

I was very much struck by this …

And when I kicked him in the shins, so was he….

Martin Allen, nil points.

All was forgiven though at the after-parkrun party as the runners mingled politely, sipped water and deconstructed their performances.

The lambrini, ferrero rocher and debauched dancing came later - and rumour has it that was just Kate Fowler again...

Ps. – please note this piece is entirely fictitious (for the most part) and no runners were actually injured (or drunk) in the making of this blog.
Follow me on Twitter @martinallen72
Visit Eastbourne Parkrun website here

Diversions, dodgy waterworks and dreaming the dream…

My first parkrun for three weeks and my first back at Eastbourne for four. Trips to London and the lovely 'Isley' Wight in between have meant four weeks of abscondence from the sunshine coast. The sunshine coast? Don’t make me laugh! For these past few weeks it has been greyer than an over-90’s day out – and just as wet!

Parkrun number 9 for me today and what a scorcher for my return. I wasn’t convinced when I woke up and a northerly wind was howling its way down my road on a Hastings hill. But, the sun was shining and I had packed a short-sleeved t-shirt in my rucksack in case of warmer climes in Eastbourne.

On my arrival I pottered about, jig-jogging, taking sips of water, catching glances of other people and experiencing that awkward moment when you’re not sure whether they’re looking back at you and whether you ought to say hello. Quite often, they’re merely looking directly over your shoulder at something else. What usually starts with a lift of the hand and the beginning of a ‘he-‘ quickly descends into a fake ‘ahem’ cough and a quick-thinking scratch of the head as you realise they haven’t clocked you at all. Feel the blood begin to flush your cheeks.

I changed into my short sleeved t-shirt, making I sure I did so when few people were around. My booming physique would surely have set a few heart rate monitors into irreversible overdrive. You see, I’m thoughtful like that.

Starter calls us over for a special announcement. Have I won the prize for best Eastbourne blogger? No. Has there been a mistake because it’s parkrun and the sun is shining? No. Have they diverted the route away from the army assault course section? YES!  Owing to the recent wet weather, which, by all accounts, led to ankle deep water for some last week, a visit to the ditch had been dropped from the itinerary. We would not now descend into the grimpen mire and would, instead, take the route along the football pitch edge, on higher and marginally drier ground. This shortened the route a little, so an extra diversion was added, which I will recount shortly.

Starter counted down from three and blew his whistle; a real pro. There followed a two second delay as I tried to press start on my Garmin – believe me, when you’re as stupid as I am, even pressing a button on a watch can be a challenge!

I set off at a slightly more conservative pace than usual. I wasn’t in the sub 7 minute mile melee that usually ensues for the first hundred yards and, instead, settled in at 7m 10s.  We were clinically diverted away from the ditch by the fabulously marshalling Steph (who does running) Burton and along the football pitch edge, which made its own attempts to hobble the runners. The grass was quite long here and I noticed two people put their foot down only to see it disappear a few inches into a hole or depression in the ground.  Running in long grass is akin to running through tyre hoops – that strangely odd wide stance and high knee lift as you try to avoid hidden holes and shoelace/greenery entanglement. There was a slightly flattened strip where a car tyre had pressed the grass and many runners tried to use this as a guide.

On reaching the other end, instead of turning left onto the path, we were sent round a small copse and then switch-backed round a playground – more twists and turns here than an Agatha Christie plot! I felt sorry for the marshall at this point, who must have spent 40 minutes standing in a stench of dog dirt, because it was pretty strong round there.  You have this panicked ‘was it me’ moment as you kick your heels up high behind you, aim to check the soles of your shoes and then witness  all the runners around you doing the same.

Thanking the lord (real or imaginary) that our tread was clear, we continued back onto the familiar route.

Now, all week I have had Les Miserables songs going through my head. By the way, if nobody has ever seen this show, it is the one thing you must do before you die.   I don’t know much about the French Revolution and opera-style singing was never ever my thing, but this show transcends all of that and is guaranteed to blow you away beyond any other entertainment you’ve ever experienced. If there is a more technically brilliant, orchestrally goose-bumpy and, at the end, spine-tinglingly rousing song on Earth than 4 minutes of One Day More, then let it be known.

(Alfie Boe and cast at the 25^th Anniversary concert version attached here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BpGA_VRc1Ro)

Anyhow, what has this to do with parkrun today? Well, as my breathing became a bit laboured early on through a bit of fitness deterioration, I needed something to concentrate my mind. So, in my mind’s eye I was Alfie Boe as Jean Valjean singing One Day More and Who Am I. I didn’t vocalise this on the route as I could not be responsible for killing both the song and my fellow parkrunners. Incidentally, if Jean Valjean had a parkrun number he would have to be 24601. (Anyone who has seen Les Mis will understand!!) I’m not 24601 – I’m 237259! I did manage most of Do You Hear The People Sing and a bit of Master of The House as well. I did not belt out I Dreamed a Dream.  If I had a key, it would probably be the wrong one for me - and I forgot about it.

Before I knew it 3km had passed and I knew my pace was lagging a bit. My watch had me down at 8 minute miles and the northerly wind was blowing headlong down the back stretch. I really, really wanted to walk but I kept forcing myself onwards.

It was then that I had a curious experience. I felt a strange warmth down the inside of my leg. Typical! 39 years old and my prostate decides to give up in the middle of a parkrun! I put my hand to my thigh and, to my surprise, it was bone dry.  No esca-pee! Just warm skin. Phew! I still do not know what this sensation was, but I can only describe it as a strange warming feeling creeping down my leg and, I must say, I am relieved my prostate is still in perfect working order. If anyone has any ideas, please write to me on a postcard.

I was conscious that three people had overtaken me on the run. I tried to keep tabs on one young chap (blue t-shirt man) who collared me at halfway, but he was running a bit stronger than me and slowly, step-by step, he kept inching out a gap. Before long he was forty metres ahead and so I focussed on two other guys about twenty metres in front. Back through the twisty turny section we went and, by now, I had almost latched onto them.

I knew that, however exhausted I felt, I always managed to give a sprint finish for 100 metres or so and a little bit of a competitive edge crept in. We swung around the final bend and hit the grass heading towards the finish.  I don’t think they knew I was there. I’m short, lean and very light on my feet, so it wasn’t as if a lumbering rhino was bearing down on them. A small gap opened between them and I half thought about splitting their difference.  But the chap on the right edged slightly in, so I deftly side-stepped to my left and sprinted round the chap on the left. They both responded and a few claps emerged from the spectators as they witnessed a trio of middle aged men sprinting (and I use that term loosely!) for the line. I just had the legs of them and finished in front.

19^th position (again). That was my previous finishing position and, had I run the last two weeks, my average time would have  also put me in that same position on both days.

Garmin time of 24:09 – but that is likely to be rounded up to 24:11 or similar as I fumbled with simple technology at the start.

So, another week, another parkrun. Don’t forget to have a look at the video to see what I was singing on my way round. I think next week I will be singing as The Weather Girls….. both of them!

Other blogs:

Parkrun secrets the nearly professionals didn't want you to know about

Playing away – I just can't stop myself - Richmon parkrun 21 April 2012


The Eastbourne parkrun Grand National - 14 April 2012


Eastbourne parkrun 07 April 2012: The satsuma that got squeezed!


A parkrun lesson